


scared that I couldn't find (all the answers, honey)

by sarahcakes613



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, Background Stydia, Becomes not so Secret, F/M, Love Confessions, Mild Daddy Kink, Rare Pairings, Secret Relationship, and so does the sheriff, the truth comes out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23299858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613
Summary: Noah and Jackson are together, and Noah's not sure when he last felt so happy. The only problem is he still hasn't told Stiles.
Relationships: Noah Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore, Sheriff Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	scared that I couldn't find (all the answers, honey)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [sarahcakes613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613). Log in to view. 



> The one thing I kept thinking about after writing "you fit me better (than my favourite sweater)" was "but how would Stiles react", so I finally wrote it. Big huge enormous thanks to Bex for letting me talk things out. True friends support each other's trash ships even when they don't understand them. <3

This – whatever this is – has been going on for nearly two months, and Noah can’t remember the last time he felt this happy and relaxed. Definitely not since his induction into the world of the supernatural, maybe not even since before Claudia got sick.

Jackson’s living with him, basically has been since that first night he brought him home from the bar. Noah still worries about holding Jackson back, but every time he tries to bring it up, Jackson just rolls his eyes.

“I’m here because I want to be. I was on my own in London, I may as well have been on my own when I was on the East Coast. I don’t want to be on my own. I want to be with you.”

He usually follows this up with a flutter of his eyelashes and somehow they wind up in bed, and then Noah’s distracted enough not to push the topic for a while.

Derek and Scott know he’s back in Beacon Hills, but Scott’s been away at school so Derek’s the only one who’s seen Jackson in person. He’d shown up at the station after meeting Jackson for breakfast, not quite a week after Jackson’s arrival, stalked right past the front desk and into the sheriff’s office.

* * *

_Noah looks up at Derek, taking in the set jaw, the flared nostrils._

_“You want to tell me why Jackson Whittemore smells like he’s been rolling around in your bed?”_

_“Probably because that’s exactly what he does every morning.” Noah responds dryly._

_Derek’s eyes flash blue._

_Noah waves Derek into a chair and gives him the barebones story about the night he’d responded to a call from a bartender about a stubborn shifter. He doesn’t give any details about what had happened the next morning, but he does talk about Jackson’s slow healing, his clear lack of an alpha or pack, and he didn’t know it was possible but Derek’s jaw clenches even more as he listens._

_His hands clench too, curling around the arms of the chair until the wood starts to creak. Noah looks pointedly down at Derek’s hands until he relaxes his grip._

_“I’ve already spoken to Jackson about rejoining the pack, and I’m going to talk to Scott tonight, but Noah…you know I have to tell him. He needs to know. And if he knows…”_

_“Then Stiles knows, yeah, I know how they work.”_

_Noah sighs heavily._

_“How much detail do you need to go into?”_

_Derek shifts uncomfortably in the hard wooden seat._

_“He’s going to want to know where Jackson’s staying, what he’s using as his anchor.”_

_Noah relaxes slightly. He can work with this._

_“You can tell him he’s staying with me; he’ll probably just assume I’ve got him in Stiles’ room. His anchor is still Lydia, they talk every day, just about.”_

_Derek nods and stands up. The sheriff stands too._

_“I was kind of expecting a bit more protest from you on the whole, you know.” he waves a hand around himself to demonstrate what he’s trying to say._

_Derek looks straight at him._

_“Jackson’s legally as much an adult as either of us, and he deserves to be happy. If rolling around in your bed makes him happy, well. That’s his call to make. I’m not his alpha anymore. I won’t give Scott any details, but if he’s still rolling in your bed when Stiles comes home for Christmas...”_

_Noah gets it. If Stiles has a problem with it, Scott will have a problem with it. And if Scott has a problem with it, Jackson will either have to leave Noah, or leave Beacon Hills. He can’t let his own feelings get in the way of his boy’s safely being in the pack._

* * *

By now Stiles does know that Jackson’s back in town, knows that he’s staying with the sheriff. Jackson had gone over to Melissa McCall’s house after dinner on Thanksgiving, called to meet his new alpha face to face as Scott was down from UCDavis for the weekend. It goes well enough, Jackson’s in a quiet but not melancholy mood when he returns. Scott and Stiles share no secrets, so he isn’t surprised to get a phone call from his son that night, asking for more information. He mainly seems to want to know if Jackson’s bringing fried food into the house, and demands that Noah tell Jackson not to snoop in any of Stiles’ drawers.

Noah rolls his eyes silently at that but agrees to pass on the message. Stiles is spending Thanksgiving in Boston with Lydia, and based on the phone call it’s clear that all of his information has come from Scott, his girlfriend having kept her promise to Jackson and not said anything about Noah. It’s a good phone call, and it’s too easy for Noah to gloss over the details of their living situation, of how Jackson isn’t likely to snoop in Stiles’ drawers because he doesn’t spend any time in Stiles’ room.

A phone call might have been the easiest way to do it, though, because now they’re less than a month from Christmas and Noah still has no idea how to tell his son about his relationship with Stiles’ former high school nemesis.

If he’s being honest, that might be why he keeps bumping up against Jackson’s will, prodding it like a bruise, looking for the tiniest crack that will get him around the defenses and convince Jackson that maybe Noah isn’t worth all of this fuss. Jackson is steadfast in his convictions, though, and nothing Noah says seems to get through his implacable optimism.

“We haven’t been nemeses for years,” he reminds Noah. “We even play Words With Friends. _With Friends_.” He waves his phone to emphasise his point.

And then it’s the day before Stiles is due to arrive, and the fridge has never looked cleaner or more empty of sulphites.

“He doesn’t want you to be alone. He wants you to be happy.” Jackson murmurs into Noah’s neck when they’re in bed, rumpled and sweaty. He trips his fingers through the hair on Noah’s chest, twirling it and smoothing it down.

“And you are happy, aren’t you?” He looks up, his blue eyes pleading. His hand is shaky against Noah’s skin and Noah can tell it’s not just from an orgasm come-down. His beautiful glowing boy is just as nervous as he is.

He reaches down, grips Jackson’s hand.

“I am happy sweetheart, so fucking happy. I’m just worried about you.”

Jackson nods, he knows what the older man means. It comes back to his tenuous place in the Beacon Hills pack. Scott had welcomed him back with open arms but that could all change in an instant if Stiles doesn’t like what he sees when he comes home.

“I’ve already talked to Derek,” Jackson tells him, “I can go stay with him for a bit if it doesn’t go well.”

He shifts onto his side, draping himself half across his lover.

“But for now,” he leans up to kiss Noah on the mouth, “we have one more night.”

He’s already half-hard again, rolling his hips against Noah, who growls low in his chest. It’s nothing like the rumbling sounds the weres make, but it soothes and arouses Jackson depending on his mood, and tonight it does both.

“Jacks, baby, I don’t know if I have the energy.” Noah huffs. He feels the stirring of interest in his cock but they’ve already fucked once, and that’s after a day of work and housecleaning. He hates the insistent twinges in his knees that prick at him and remind him of how old he is.

Jackson ignores him, grinding harder against Noah. His eyes are dark, the blue turned to a deep indigo in the evening light. His lips quirk up into a sly smile.

“It’s okay, daddy,” He straddles the older man, “I can do all the work.”

* * *

Noah wakes up early, shuffles downstairs to get coffee brewing. Stiles is due to pull in midmorning and he’s bound to be hungry. He has about three hours, more than enough time to shower and then throw together a scramble for breakfast burritos. He even has turkey bacon and whole wheat tortillas, which will please his son.

Jackson is still asleep by the time he’s finished in the shower, and he allows himself a moment to stand in the door of his – of _their_ – bedroom and look at the man he has fallen so hopelessly head over heels for in so short a time. The man in question is sprawled on his stomach, blankets half kicked off the bed, his nose tucked into the crease between their pillows. His breathing is slow and even, and Noah is suddenly reminded awkwardly about all the nights he spent watching Stiles sleep, standing in the doorway of his son’s bedroom like he could physically keep the nightmares out. He shakes his head to dispel the comparison and heads back down to the kitchen.

His phone pings as he is whisking eggs, Stiles updating him with an ETA of a quarter hour. He looks around the kitchen. The tortillas are warming, the bacon is chopped, there’s nothing left to do but cook the eggs. He sets them aside for the moment and jogs upstairs to see if Jackson’s awake yet.

He is, but it’s that languid sleepy kind of awake and his eyes flutter when he sees Noah at the foot of the bed.

“Mmm, g’mornin’ daddy.” He murmurs, stretching his arms out over his head as he sits up. The blankets fall around him and Noah’s mouth is dry as he soaks in the beautiful picture in front of him, sculptured muscles and tanned skin and soft wavy hair still tousled from sleep.

“Good morning, baby boy.” He murmurs back, leaning down to drop a kiss on that tousled hair before straightening up.

“You’d better get dressed; Stiles is going to be here any minute.”

“Mm, kay,” Jackson agrees, stretching again before standing up. “You have a game plan?”

Noah winces.

“Not really. He’ll know as soon as he drops his bag upstairs that you haven’t been sleeping in his bed, so it needs to be before that. After breakfast, maybe?

“I can go for a run, let you two talk it out.” Jackson offers, his voice muffled as he pulls a t-shirt on. He scratches idly at the trail of hair below his belly button, the t-shirt pulling up, and Noah’s distracted for a moment before snapping back to his face.

“That might be a good idea. Don’t go too far though, maybe stay close enough that you’ll hear if he tries to break a plate over my head.” It’s a joke, but they both know it falls flat.

Jackson reaches a hand out to smooth down Noah’s collar and pulls him in for a gentle kiss.

“I’ll stay right where you need me.” He whispers into Noah’s skin.

* * *

Noah knows when Stiles is close because Jackson’s focus shifts from setting the table to the front door, his eyes narrowed. It’s only a few minutes later that Noah hears the tell-tale chug of Roscoe wheezing into the driveway and then the front door is slamming open.

Jackson steps back as Stiles barrels into the kitchen and sweeps his father into a hug. Noah drops his cheek onto his son’s head, inhaling deeply.

“Welcome back, kiddo.”

“It’s good to be back,” Stiles grins, stepping back. “Hey, Jacks.” He nods to Jackson but keeps his hands by his side. His fingers are tapping out a repetitive rhythm on his thigh.

Jackson nods back.

“It’s good to see you, Stiles.”

Stiles blinks, but if he’s surprised to hear his name instead of his surname, he doesn’t show it otherwise.

Breakfast is only a little bit awkward, Noah and Jackson both hyper-aware of the space they share, and actively trying not to fall into their normal ballet, but Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. The conversation stays light, Stiles talking about his classes, about driving from Maryland to Boston whenever his schedule allows.

When they’re done, Jackson clears the table and then heads to the back door.

“Going somewhere?” Stiles’ voice is casual, but probing.

“Just for a run, figured I’d give you two a chance to catch up privately.” Jackson tries to keep his voice casual too, but Noah can hear the tension in it.

Stiles nods thoughtfully.

“Right, there’s a lot to catch up on. Like how you’ve been sleeping with my dad. You don’t think maybe you should be here for that?”

Jackson’s hand freezes on the doorknob. Noah’s breath freezes in his lungs.

“I don’t – what – “ Jackson stutters, has no words.

“Sit down, Jackson.” Stiles’ voice is sharp, and it cuts through the ice that is building up in Noah’s chest.

He does, falling into the nearest chair.

Stiles leans back in his own chair, his fingers tapping that rhythm again on his thigh.

Noah finally unfreezes enough to choke out a single question.

“How?”

Stiles smiles, but it’s not the sweet open smile he’s used to seeing on his son’s face. It’s got teeth, and Noah can feel them biting.

“Friends don’t lie,” he says it in a sing-song, quoting the TV show they’d binge-watched over the summer.

“Lydia told you.”

Jackson’s voice is quiet. He sounds defeated, like he’s lost the battle before a war’s even been declared.

Stiles shoots him a set of finger guns.

“Got it in one. There’s me, eating pumpkin pie with my girlfriend after a great phone call with my pops, and she tells me she’s proud of me for being so mature about, and I quote, ‘your dad having a boyfriend’, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. ”

He ticks points off on his hand, fingers unfolding one by one.

“In one conversation, I learn that my dad’s not straight, he’s dating a man, and that man is _my girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend_. Oh, and it’s been going on for like, six weeks.”

He leans forward, his hands flat on the table now and looks his father in the eye.

“You want to tell me why we had six weeks of texts, emails, fucking Skype calls, and not once did you think to tell me, ‘by the way, I’m fucking your old high-school buddy. But hey, you don’t have to worry about the restraining order anymore!’”

Noah doesn’t have an answer. At least, none that will suffice in this situation. Stiles has every right to be angry, he knows it. He’s a little relieved to find the anger seems entirely directed at him, Jackson doesn’t deserve this level of vitriol.

He doesn’t need to worry about having an answer though, Stiles isn’t done.

“I honestly don’t care that you’re dating again, I certainly don’t care if you’re dating men. I’d rather not think about it too much but if I have to, I probably don’t even really care that much that you’re dating someone literally young enough to be your son,”

Noah winces, feeling the weight of judgement heavy on his shoulders. For someone who doesn’t care that much, Stiles makes a very pointed note of it.

“What I care about,” Stiles goes on, “is that I had to find this all out from my girlfriend and not my OWN FUCKING FATHER.”

He slaps the table to emphasise his point. The resulting bang is muted, but Jackson jumps a little, startling at the sudden noise. A single whine slips out of his mouth, and he bites his lips to try and stop it.

Noah has become intimately familiar with the sounds of Jackson’s panic and he moves on instinct now, his hand reaching out to grip Jackson’s chin. He tilts his lover’s head, drags his nose roughly up the line of his neck. The rational part of his brain is screaming at him, asking why the hell he’s doing this in front of Stiles, but he ignores that in favour of the primitive part right now, and that part is telling him that the young were needs the comforting scent of his partner.

The whine startles Stiles and so does Noah’s reaction. He watches them silently, his fingers tapping faster against his leg, his shoulders set in a taut line of tension.

“I’m sorry – Stiles, I’m so sorry. I’m not – this isn’t – please Stiles, don’t be mad at your dad, okay? He was just afraid of what you’d say. I’ll, I’ll go today, I can go stay with Derek. I can’t – I can’t leave right away, but I’ll stay at Derek’s, you don’t have to see me. Please don’t tell Scott to kick me out right away, please Stiles, I can’t leave, I have nowhere to go.”

The words are pouring out of Jackson and with each choked sentence his voice trembles more until he is hiccupping the words.

Jackson’s entire body is shaking and Noah can tell he’s fighting his instincts hard, forcing his wolf down. Noah runs a hand up to the back of his neck and just leaves it there, fingers curled slightly and the weight of his hand heavy on Jackson’s nape. He’s been a quick study when it comes to Jackson’s tells, and he can tell the younger man wants to scent him, wants to seek comfort in his lover’s pulse. He strokes at Jackson’s own pulse point with his thumb, and Jackson brings one hand up to his, holding Noah’s thumb with all five of his fingers.

Stiles takes in everything, eyes darting from his father’s drawn face to Jackson’s panicked one, and to their hands clasped at the base of Jackson’s throat.

All at once, his shoulders slump, like the string holding his tension up has been cut. He rubs a hand tiredly over his face.

“I’m not – shit, Jackson, I’m not going to tell Scott to kick you out. You don’t have to leave, man. This is just, it’s super fucking weird, okay?”

Stiles stops, chews at his lip, and Noah can’t think of a single time before that he’s seen his son at such a loss for words.

“Stiles.”

Noah’s voice is low and he knows he sounds pleading, but he doesn’t care.

“I almost flew home the day after Thanksgiving. I wanted to come home and see it for myself and find out what exactly kind of leave your senses were taking, but Lydia told me not to. She also told me something else.”

Stiles’ eyes focus on his father, and Noah feels pinned by his gaze. He may be looking at his father but when he speaks again, it’s directed at Jackson.

“Is he your anchor?”

Jackson’s empty hand opens and closes, and Noah waits for him to deny it, to explain that it’s still Lydia, their friendship so much deeper even than the love they shared in high school.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he turns his head away from Noah, and it comes out in a whisper, but it might as well be a fire alarm, it rings so loud in Noah’s head.

“Yes.”

Noah’s pretty sure he stops breathing and he doesn’t know if it’s for five seconds or five minutes. His breath lets out in a gasp and Jackson lets go of his hand, curls in on himself, still turned away.

Stiles stands up, goes to the sink, fills a glass with cold water. He gently nudges it into his father’s hand and the chill of the glass grounds him.

“So, you didn’t know.”

Now Stiles is speaking directly to his father.

Noah shakes his head.

“The first full moon was only a bit after Jackson came home, he spent most of it in the backyard on the phone with Lydia. The second one…the second one was just before Thanksgiving.”

A horrifying thought occurs to him, and he can see from the tense line of Jackson’s back, it’s clear that the younger man knows the connections Noah is making in his mind.

“Jackson,” Noah’s voice is hoarse, “I pulled overnights that week because you said you’d be okay. You said you were going to spend the night on FaceTime with Lydia and I didn’t need to worry.”

“It didn’t work.” Stiles picks up the thread. “Lydia told me he couldn’t keep his shift in check.”

Jackson completes the narrative in a dull voice, muffled because his face is in his hands.

“I locked myself in the garage overnight and only came out after you’d come home and gone to bed. I told you I’d been out for an early run.”

Noah feels impossibly old and utterly exhausted. He doesn’t know what he could have done differently given the lack of information, but he still feels like he’s failed his beautiful boy, like he’s somehow made Jackson feel like he couldn’t tell him the truth.

Stiles jams his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“I’m going to stay with Melissa for a few days, til Scott gets home. You two have a lot to talk about, and uh, I don’t really want to be here for that. But…I’ll be here for the rest.”

He chews on his lip, clearly carefully choosing his words.

“I love you, dad, and I don’t need a pile of red string to see the correlation between how happy you sound when we talk and…whatever this is. So, I’m going to try really hard to be the mature adult you raised me to be and I’m going to stay out of my father’s romantic life. I should probably say something vaguely threatening about if he ever hurts you, but…I don’t think I have to worry about that.”

Noah nods, looks down at Jackson, who is still sitting with his head lowered, nape exposed in submission.

“Thank you, son.”

Noah’s choked up, and he tries to hide it by wrapping Stiles up in a hug before stepping back, clearing his throat.

“Why don’t you swing by the station tomorrow for lunch, you can meet some of the new hires.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’m not bringing you diner food, though, so don’t even ask.”

Noah chuckles at that.

“No, I won’t. Jacks has me doing meal prep; I’ll bring extra of this week’s lunch.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and his lips clamp down as he clearly holds back an opinion, but the glitter in his eye promises that he will not be forgetting this tidbit of information. Noah lets a wry smile show as he walks Stiles to the front door. They hug again, holding each other a beat longer than is really necessary before Stiles leaves.

* * *

When Noah walks back to the kitchen, the back door is open, but Jackson hasn’t gone far. He’s sitting on the porch steps, bare feet in the grass.

Noah levers himself down next to the younger man and wraps an arm around him. Jackson turns immediately, burying his face in the older man's chest.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Noah asks.

“I wanted to,” Jackson mumbles. “I just didn’t know how to tell you without you freaking out about it.”

“Hm.”

They sit quietly, and Noah thinks about what it means to be an anchor. To be the thing that tethers Jackson to his humanity. He knows from Derek that it can be anything, and not necessarily something positive, but his boy is so sensitive, so open with his emotions after years of repressing them, and if his first anchor was his first love, well. He wonders if maybe Jackson’s wolf is saying those three little words in the only way it knows how, because Jackson himself is afraid to.

He presses a kiss into Jackson’s hair, then another one on his temple, a third one on his cheek. He tilts Jackson’s face up to his and ghosts a kiss across his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, baby boy. I’m sorry I kept trying to push you away and I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me what was going on.”

“You’re not mad?”

“God, no, Jacks, baby, not at all. Hey, look at me,” He cups Jackson’s face in both his hands and looks at him. Jackson’s eyes are shiny, tears on the verge of spilling over, but he looks hopeful.

Noah’s voice is steady, as is his heartbeat, and he knows Jackson will hear the truth of his words.

“I am so fucking honoured, sweetheart. To know that you have that kind of trust in me, I know what that means, and Jackson, baby, I love you too. Never ever doubt that I love you, okay?”

Jackson smiles. It’s tremulous but real, and there is a glow to his skin, like his happiness is outshining everything else. Noah makes a silent vow then and there to always work to keep that glow on his boy’s face, to never make his boy doubt something so important ever again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [sarahcakes613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/pseuds/sarahcakes613) Log in to view. 




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